


Cooperation

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Human, Assassin Kirkland, Crime Boss!Kiku, Criminal!Belarus, Dead!China, Explicit Language, Guest Star Obama, Hitman!Alfred, M/M, Mention of President Cheeto, Mentions of RoChu, Mobster!Ivan, Overseer!Prussia, Prussia and Hungary are Matchmakers, RusAme, Stripper!Ukraine, This isn't a crack fic I swear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-01 10:49:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10188227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Alfred Jones gets assigned to assassinate a terrorist leader with mobster, Ivan Braginsky. The American absolutely loathes him, but as the two gradually warm up, could that change?





	1. Day Job

Alfred Jones stood beneath the metal detector. He could hear the humming of its scan, though soft and quiet. He waited for ding to sound from the monitor, watching the blinking yellow light quietly. Of course, the detector found nothing, and he walked pass the barrier without a problem.

As he grabbed his belt and shoes from the plastic bin sitting atop the conveyor belt, the guard asked, his voice loud with a tone most would consider a bit obnoxious, “What brings you to Feyer’s, kid?” 

Alfred smirked inwardly, his fingers pulling the leather of his belt through the loop. He turned to the security guard, a grin tugging at his lips as the guard’s face went white. 

“Ah, it’s a secret. Agent business, ya know?” The plump man nodded, though it was obvious he didn’t understand. Alfred wasn’t an agent under Mr. Feyer, and he knew that, but judging by the lust in his eyes, he was too busy creating some fantasy to jerk off to later to really think about it. 

That’s why Alfred chose the traditional way of entering instead of coming through his usual route; the air vents. 

“Have a good evening, sir!” Alfred shouted as he jogged away. 

People like that guard disgusted him. Considering his circumstances, it’s understandable as to why, but nonetheless, he could not help but judge the millions and billions of hormonal, sexual people on the planet. It was sick, in his opinion. He used to like to think of humans as distinguished and mannerly members of their race, but after working a gig at the JLK Stripclub in Miami, his vision was permanently tarnished. 

Now, he thought of humans, including children, as miserable, arrogant beings only out for themselves. But, Alfred didn’t consider himself to be a hypocrite, so he viewed himself the same way, as he was human too-- minus his lack of empathy and basic emotions. 

Alfred now stood in the elevator, quietly humming along to the music most found torturous. He fished a silver-colored pistol from his pocket, and after taking a moment to admire the weapon, he sighed, straightening his bowtie, and watched the numbers gradually climb up. 

He watched, irritably, for hours it seemed to reach level 100. He let out a relieved sigh, thankful to escape the compact room. He hated small spaces. The elevator suddenly stops then, and the doors open. This had been easier than he originally anticipated. 

Alfred stepped into the large office, gazing around at the items surrounding him, and at the same time thinking that an old man like Mr. Feyer hardly needed that much space.

Said CEO let out a tired sigh from his desk as he turned around in his chair. “Jaime, I am quite busy tonight, I’ll finish the reports by--” He froze when his eyes met Alfred’s. The blond grinned. “You…” The man began, face pale. “You’re--”

“Alfred F. Jones!” Alfred shouted, suddenly very proud. So he was known. “Hitman and American super-hottie!” He spun his gun on his pointer finger, a childish smile stretching across his face. Alfred began to walk towards the man. “You know why I’m here, right? Surely you do. Only a stupid person wouldn’t know what a hitman is doing in their own office.” 

The businessman went pale. “I-I can get you something instead! How about money? Money? I-I’ve got plenty of money! I’ll give you anything you want just let me live… I have children and a fiancee! I’ll pay twice as much as your buyer! I’ll pay to send you somewhere else! M-Mr. Jones, plea--” 

“My, oh my!” Alfred shouted, clapping his hands together gleefully. “Not even two minutes, and you’re already begging! I’ve got to say, I’m a bit pleased.” Just then, the blond lept onto his desk, grabbed a handful of the middle-aged man’s grey hair, and slammed his head into the maple wood. The American grinned, his heart racing. Alfred pulled his head back up to a semi-level position. 

“My client told me you did some pretty nasty things to your wife,” He whispered excitedly. “He said you stabbed her  _ eighteen times  _ and then fucked her corpse. Is that true?” He shook his head. Alfred could swear he saw tears. “I wonder what your fiance would think…” And then he began crying.

_ What a disgusting old man. He’s clearly not sorry. How fucking pathetic to cry over something so damn meaningless.  _

Suddenly, Alfred was angry. He was so angry he could have slammed that old man’s head again and again onto the desk until his head was mush and crunchy with chunks of broken skull, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. He had lost control a countless number of times, but none were recent. He was an adult now. He didn’t do that anymore.

Not to mention, Alfred was ordered to simply shoot Mr. Feyer, so he couldn’t smash his head in. 

Alfred stared at the man for a moment before finally dropping his head. The blond stepped away from him, his face contorted in distaste as he wiped his hands off on his shirt. 

“You disgust me,” Alfred hissed, shooting a glare at Mr. Feyer. “You fucking sicko.” 

The CEO gazed at him with confused eyes. “But I thought…” He trailed off for a moment. He was still quite dazed from his head injury. “You’re a hitman. You k-kill too.” 

Alfred didn’t answer. The man was right. He wasn’t any better, but certainly wasn’t worse. Sure, he killed people, but he didn’t violate their corpses. 

“Mr. Feyer,” He began, turning to face said man. “Do you fear damnation?” The CEO stared at his hands. He couldn’t answer that. “Well, assuming that there is a Hell…” Alfred cocked his pistol. “You’re certainly going there.” 

After a few more moments of silence, the man closed his eyes, waiting for his end silently. 

“Good boy.” Alfred smirked. He lifted his gun to level with the man’s forehead, and pulled the trigger. 


	2. A Turn of Events

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert delivers Alfred some shocking news. (and Alfred's poor maid has another mess to clean.)

Alfred lay on his sleek white sofa, counting his large sum of money with a sneer on his face. 

“So you got it now,” His client mumbled. “Happy?” 

“Very,” Alfred replied. He was near fed up with his buyer’s excuses on not giving him his money, so finally getting what he deserved after all that time? He was quite happy. 

“But you know,” Alfred continued. “You paid late.” His client’s face went white. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, the American took out his pistol and shot him in the head without a single glance. 

He continued to count his money as he called for his maid. The old Latina woman walked in and nearly gasped at the sight. Alfred looked up and gazed at her expectantly.

She dashed into the kitchen to retrieve a garbage bag before grabbing her cleaning supplies and cleaning the mess. Just then, Gilbert, Alfred’s only friend and overseer, walked in with a gasp of his own. He tapped his foot impatiently. 

“Alfred…?” Said hitman immediately ran to the German, wrapping his arms around him tightly.

“Gil!” He shouted happily. “I didn’t expect you to come today!” Gilbert rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, whatever. Who is this?” Alfred turned to look at the corpse.

“Oh,” He said shortly. “Right. That’s just my client. He paid late.” 

“That’s not protocol, Alfred.” 

“So what? He was a nobody.” 

Gilbert let out a long sigh, thinking it was best to leave it alone. “I have something to tell you, Alfred.” The American’s eyes immediately lit up. 

“News?” He asked excitedly. “You have news?” 

“Yes,” Gilbert continued cautiously. “But it’s not good.” 

Alfred’s face immediately fell, and he looked down at his feet, back slouched, like a sad puppy. 

“It’s not entirely bad… But you won’t like it.” 

The blond straightened his spine and stared down at the albino Prussian. “Alright,” He sighed. “What is it?”

Gilbert braced himself. This would not be easy. 

“Do you remember the Russian Mob, Alfred?” The blond nodded, and thought for a moment before suddenly letting out an excited sound.

“Am I gonna kill one of ‘em?” He asked eagerly. Gilbert shook his head.

“No… I’m afraid not.” 

Alfred rose an eyebrow. “Then what?” 

“You…” Gilbert bit his lip. “Do you remember Ivan?” 

“Commie?” Alfred asked. “Yeah. What about him?” 

“Well… Our, um, agency… We are… We need help.” 

The blond frowned. Help? With what? “Why would we need help?” 

“You know our agents have been working with the U.S. Army lately.” Alfred nodded. “Yeah, well, they’ve been helping us, and have had our backs for a while. They want something in return.” The American stared at Gilbert patiently. “A mission. There’s these… People in Latvia. Basically, they’re enemies with the United States.” 

“What’s that got to do with the Russian Mob?” Alfred asked, confused. 

“The U.S. Army can’t really do anything for security’s sake, and we can’t do anything either, since we don’t have a rat. The Russian Mob has deep ties with them, and luckily for us, they hate them at the moment.” 

Even if that was so, which Alfred seriously doubted since the Russian Mob had a thing against the Agency for years, how would they get them to, and why would they help them?

Alfred had plenty of questions, but simply asked one; “What’s that got to do with me?” 

Gilbert took a deep breath. This would be the hardest part. “The Agency… Chose you to work with one of their members.” 

Alfred’s eyes widened. “You… You mean it already worked out?”

Gilbert nodded.

“And I have to work with one of them?” 

Gilbert nodded again.

Alfred paused for a moment. “Is… The member going to be--”

“Ivan Braginsky,” Gilbert interrupted, eager to end the conversation.

The American went silent again. No dirty work? No planned betrayal? No surprise turn-in? This was certainly new.

“Who do I…” Alfred began, still attempting to process the situation. “Who do I have to kill?” 

“The leader,” Gilbert stated. “White House claims that the organization will simply collapse after that.” 

Alfred nodded, understanding parts of it, but not everything. He asked one final question. “When will I meet with Big Red?” 

The albino took another deep breath. “That’s the reason why I came so quickly…” 

Alfred looked confused. He opened his mouth to say something further, but before he could, that hideous, familiar Russian accent filled his ears. 

“Comrade~” The voice sang. “I’m here~!” 

Alfred stared at Gilbert with a piercing gaze, clearly furious and angry by simply hearing the Russian’s voice.

Ivan then bounced in from the elevator, wearing that ridiculous smile Alfred swears he's seen too much of. “Hell-o, Alfred!” He chirped. “It’s nice to see you!” 

Alfred scowled. He didn’t feel the same.

“So you have met each other,” Gilbert said, trying his best to avoid eye contact with Ivan. 

Ivan nodded. “Ah, da. We have.”

_ Unfortunately,  _ Alfred thought bitterly.

“He does not like me,” He said with a soft laugh. 

“Of course I don’t like you. You’re Russian. And a Communist,” Alfred replied bitterly. 

“Not all Russians are communists… But, I can’t say I don’t support it.” 

“Wow,” Gilbert suddenly cut in. “I’ve never seen Alfred so serious. You must have quite an effect on him,” He teased. 

Ivan laughed. “Da, that’s what Boss thinks.” 

“Shut up,” Alfred mumbled. “When do we go, Gil?” 

The albino tugged at his collar. “Uh… Heh. In two hours?” 

Suddenly, the Russian went silent. 

“ _ What? _ ” 


	3. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred just won't stop being jealous of Ivan. Ivan understands why Alfred he's the way he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness gracious I already have kudos... Ah, geez... I'm tearing up أ‿أ   
> This is my first fanfic and I'm so happy it's turning out so well!!! Thank you guys for your support, and expect more soon!

“Alfred, it will do no use complaining,” Ivan said tiredly. 

“I don't care! I'm gonna! There's no way I'm going go with  _ you _ ! Isn't there anyone else? Maybe, I don't know, a  _ girl?! _ ” 

“You're acting like a child… And Gilbert already said--” 

“I don't care what he said!” The American shouted. There was no way on Earth or in Hell that he was going to stay in a hotel with  _ Ivan Braginsky.  _ Let alone  _ sleep in the same bed _ . He didn't care that it was to keep their cover. 

Alfred had already spent 8 hours with the man on a plane, pretending to be his fiancé, and he wasn't about to do the same in a  _ hotel _ . 

Ivan sighed as he pulled their rental from the airport lot. “I'm not going to argue with you. I'm very tired.” 

Alfred scoffed. “Whatever.” 

Ivan didn't understand Alfred. He was just so… Strange. He's seen Alfred alone, or with other people, and he was always very outgoing, and, childish, in some ways. But around Ivan he was grumpy and irritable. It confused him. 

He stared at Alfred for a moment before hearing a horn honk from behind him. 

“Jesus, learn how to drive, will you?” 

As the two walked into the hotel, Alfred couldn't help but notice the dozens of female eyes on Ivan. It irritated him. Sure, he was a big Russian man most women would probably consider hot, but Alfred was right there! Why did they waste their time with Ivan when a super-hot American was right beside him?!

“Names?” The lady at the desk asked cheerfully, her cheeks warm with blush as she gazed into the Russian’s eyes. 

“Nikolai and John Stratov,” Ivan replied.

_ Flirt much?  _ Alfred thought sourly. 

“Ah, family trip?” The woman asked, neglecting to type their names in. 

Ivan chuckled lightly, adding a tinge of blush for good measure. “Ah, something like that…” 

It took the lady a moment before her jaw dropped in realization. “Oh…” 

Alfred smiled bitterly. “Room key, please.” 

 

“You were quite rude to that secretary, Alfred,” Ivan said as they walked toward their room. 

“She was annoying,” Alfred muttered. “You know she was flirting with you, right?” 

Ivan rose an eyebrow. “Oh?” He inquired. “She was?” On the outside, Ivan seemed oblivious, but in his mind, he knew. Alfred was jealous. 

“Yeah. She was. It was annoying.” Alfred’s scowl deepened. Why didn't she flirt with him? Surely he was better looking than that Commie. Right? He had to resist the urge to touch his face. 

“Oh, yes, I'm sure it was.” Ivan tried his best to fight a smile from forming on his lips, but he couldn't hold it back for very long. However, Alfred didn't seem to notice.

He continued his rant. “I mean, come on, really? She was so desperate, it  _ hurt _ . No wonder she's single.” 

Ivan couldn't keep the question from escaping his lips. “Are you jealous?”

“What?” 

“Are you jealous? You know, upset that she flirted with me?” 

Alfred shrugged. “Well, not completely, but it was annoying. I mean, didn't she see we were together? Even if we aren't really engaged, we had to pretend we were, so she should’ve been cautious. And she didn't even apologize.” 

“I see,” Ivan nodded. “You're upset because she didn't flirt with  _ you _ , right?” 

The American’s face went red. “N-No! That's not why!” 

“Oh, then, it's because she flirted with  _ me _ ? You just don't want anyone to flirt with  _ me _ ?”

Alfred thought for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “Well, yes,” He admitted. “I don't, but not for the reason I know you mean!” 

_ I hate you so much, I want you to be alone,  _ He didn't say.

“Oh. Alright. Well, thank you for telling me. I feel better now that things have been cleared up,” Ivan chirped happily. 

Alfred stared at him with a confused expression. It was so hard to believe he was a hitman.

 

Ivan and Alfred eventually made it to their room, though it did take awhile. The hotel wasn't the best it could be. 

Alfred immediately leaped onto their bed upon arrival, hugging a pillow and rolling around on the surprisingly plush bedding. Ivan smiled softly. He had to admit, seeing Alfred loosen up even for a moment was relieving. The Russian was already quite sick of his angry demeanour. 

“Ah!” Alfred sighed happily. “Finally… A bed.” He glanced down at Ivan, who was crouched on the floor retrieving equipment from their suitcases. “Need help?” 

Ivan shook his head. “No, I'm alright. Thank you, though. If you’re tired, you should get some rest. We can't have you falling asleep in the middle of a fight, now can we?” 

Alfred frowned. “...Why are you so nice to me?” 

“Kindness kills.” 

“No, for real. I’m nothin’ but terrible to you, but you’re always nice and patient towards me. Why?”

“To be honest? Well, for one, you’re not nearly as bad as you like people to think you are, and also…” Ivan let himself trail off. “Forget it.” 

“Tell me, Ivan!”

“You’re broken.” Alfred’s face fell, his scowl gone. “Just like me… It’s sad, really, how you deal with it, but I guess we all different ways of coping. I care for my family, you let yourself have momentary lapses of insanity. Your’s is a bit… Less healthy than mine, but…” He looked over at the blond, who was now staring at his fists with his eyebrows drawn. “Sorry.” 

Alfred only glanced at him. 

 

The two didn’t speak much after that. At around 6 o’clock, Alfred excused himself for dinner, while Ivan stayed to lay out the rest of the plan. Once he had finished, it was only half an hour later, so he decided to join his “fiance” at the dining hall.

Just as he expected, Alfred was sitting alone, his arms crossed and lower lip stuck out in a pout. Either he hadn’t got the food he desired, or everyone was avoiding him. It was likely the latter. 

“What are you doing, Alfred?” Ivan inquired as he sat across from the blond. Alfred glared at him.

“Nothing. None of your business. Did you get the layout done?” Ivan nodded. “Good. Then we can get this damned mission over with.” 

Ivan opened his mouth to add something, but before he could, his phone suddenly vibrated in his left pocket. He pulled it out, and suddenly went pale at the sight of whoever was calling him. Alfred frowned at him.

“What?” 

Ivan took a deep breath and held the phone a ways from his ear, likely expecting screaming to resonate from the speakers. 

“ _Blyat_ _! _ ” A voice shouted. “You ignored my texts, you stupid cyka!” 

Ivan smiled weakly. “Natalya, my dear sister. How are you faring?” 

“Not well thanks to you! You bastard, how dare you leave me with our airhead sister!” 

From the other line both Ivan, and Alfred, and not to mention, the entire mess hall that went silent at the sound of Natalya's screams, could hear a small voice say, “Wha? I am  _ not _ an airhead!”

“I-I’m sorry, sister… I forgot to tell you, I’m on a mission.” The hitman lowered his voice as he said ‘mission.’ 

“And you did not tell me. I knew you did not love me!” 

“I do, sister, I do.” 

“Don’t tell me you’re alone. I texted that bastard Kiku before I called you and he said that you’re in  _ Latvia. Latvia!  _ Why the hell are you in Latvia?!” 

Ivan let out a long sigh. “I am not alone, sister.”

“Oh? You’re not? Really? Then just who, may I ask, are you with? And don’t tell me one of Boss’ men, they don’t count!” 

Ivan was silent. He knew what his sister would think if she found out she was with Alfred. She despised him. Not just because he was an American, but also because she found him obnoxious, and hated that he seemed to always be the topic of discussion in their home. But he couldn’t lie to her. He had never done so before and certainly didn’t plan on it then. 

Alfred stared at him expectantly before letting out an annoyed sigh and plucking the phone from his hand. Ivan let out a whine as he reached for his phone, but it was already too late. 

“He’s with me, stupid bitch. Deal with it.” He dropped the phone into his champagne, ignoring the sparks and sounds of the phone breaking.

“Alfred!” Ivan tried to retrieve it, but it paid no yield. “Why did you do that?!” 

“You heard her, Ivan, she said that Kiku traced you. If that Jap can hack into your system, don’t you think that these terrorists can too?” 

Ivan considered it for second. “Well, yes,” He admitted. “But what if my boss calls? And why do you still have  _ your _ phone?”

Alfred fished his phone out of his pocket, a proud grin plastered across his face. “This is military grade, baby. American-made. Ain’t nobody gonna trace it.” 

The mobster rolled his eyes. “Speak normally, for God’s sake…” 

“This is ‘Murican language, ya Commie. Deal it.” 

Ivan narrowed his eyes. “Stop it.” 


	4. Tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred and Ivan's mission gets postponed, and they're both very tired.

The time was nearing midnight, and Alfred had just finished a call with Gilbert. The terrorists weren’t where they were told they’d be, so they were forced to stay in the hotel until the next day. Lucky Alfred. 

The American returned to their room after finishing said call on the balcony, to give the news to Ivan, but he had already fallen asleep atop the only bed within the room. Alfred sighed. 

“Commie,” He said quietly, shaking the sleeping Russian’s body. “Wake up.” 

Ivan turned to face away Alfred, still deep in his slumber. 

“Come on,” Alfred groaned. “Wake up, idiot.” He crawled past Ivan to see his face once again, but instead of urging him to awaken, he took a moment to study his features. Maybe it was just Alfred’s mind playing tricks on him, but he had to admit, the Russian looked rather good when he was asleep. 

Seeing Ivan in this state, Alfred felt his own wave of tiredness sweep over him. He lay on his back and pulled the string of the lamp. As he closed his eyes, allowing the darkness to take over, he decided to tell Ivan in the morning.

 

Ivan woke up the next morning to quite a strange sight. Alfred, his supposed rival, laying rather peacefully beside him. He was asleep, of course, but it led Ivan to wonder just why he broke his promise and slept beside him. 

He didn’t want to wake him up. This was the most content he’s seen him since they left New York. 

Ivan didn’t hate Alfred. He used to, yes, he could admit that, but that was when he only saw the hitman as insane and obnoxious. He eventually, however, saw behind Alfred’s mask, and when this happened, he couldn’t hate him anymore. He assumed that was when _Alfred_ began hating  _ him _ . 

The American hated when his cover was blown, and he couldn’t stand it when others could see him as more than what he portrayed himself as. His brother was one person who saw more, and Alfred tended to avoid him the most he could. Another was Arthur Kirkland, but Alfred couldn’t avoid him-- they seemed to always cross paths when Alfred got an international request. 

Arthur was an assassin who worked for the Queen. He was like her pet, even though she didn’t even know he existed. He worked in the shadows, just like Alfred, protecting his Queen, while Alfred protected his country and his ego. 

Arthur was trained as a child. So was Alfred. 

Ivan, on the other hand, grew up during the Cold War in Siberia. His parents died early, so Ivan had no choice but to get stronger in order to protect his sisters. 

Each hitman or assassin had something to fight for, or else they’d just be a serial killer with no purpose. 

Ivan recalled meeting Arthur only once. Arthur had a tip that someone in New York was planning an attack on the Duchess. Apparently that person had been Ivan’s mob, though it eventually was discovered to be a misunderstanding. 

Upon this discovery, Arthur apologized, and was invited to tea by Ivan’s boss.  His mob was known to respect Arthur, and the misunderstanding didn't change that. 

Ivan didn't join for teatime at first, but he had to deliver a message to his boss, so he eventually saw Arthur for himself.

_ Ivan walked into the European-style room with files drawn to his chest. He had an urgent message to deliver to his boss from the American government. However, before he could mention it, said boss waved him over with a proud sneer on his face. _

_ “Ah, Ivan, come here, we must introduce you to the guest!”  _

_ Ivan’s cheeks went pink from embarrassment. “Ah… Okay.” He spoke quietly as he made his way toward the group. _

_ “Mr. Kirkland, might I introduce you to my second-hand man, Ivan--” _

_ “Ivan Braginsky,” Arthur interrupted. His stare was unwavering. “Yes, I know. A…  _ Friend  _ of mine told me about you.”  _

_ “Oh?” Ivan inquired, suddenly interested. “I'm known?”  _

_ “Haha!” His boss laughed obnoxiously. “Ah, see Ivan, you’re known! How exciting.”  _

_ Ivan couldn't help from smiling softly. “If you don't mind me asking, Mr. Kirkland, just who told you about me?”  _

_ “Some asshole,” He replied shortly. “His name’s Alfred-- he's a hitman. And I must say, you really seem to have quite an affect on him.”  _

_ Ivan’s boss laughed once more. “That's what I've been saying! Jones, right?”  _ _ Arthur nodded, a smirk plastered across his face.  _

_ You know, I wouldn't be surprised if he has a crush on you, Mr. Braginsky.”  _

_ Ivan blushed. “Oh… No, I don't think so. I think he actually hates me that much.”  _

_ “If you say so,” Arthur shrugged as he sat down his tea cup. “But I wouldn't count on it.”  _

Little did Ivan know, before Arthur left town, he visited Alfred too, and had a discussion with him on the topic of marriage.

_ “Marriage?” Alfred frowned at his coffee cup, which was full of Pepsi. “I've… Never really thought about it. It'd be kind of hard, don't ya think?”  _

_ Arthur shrugged. “Maybe. I think you just need to find an assassin or killer or something. Someone like you. Then you wouldn't have to keep a secret.”  _

_ That made Alfred snort. “Yeah, sure, and where will I find someone like that?” He questioned as he lifted his drink to his lips. _

_ “There's plenty of bad people out there.” _

_ The American suddenly perked up, his eyes lighting up with the look that means he just found a reason to bring up Ivan. “Speaking of bad people,” He began. “Ivan's fucking crazy. I heard from Elizabeta that he--”  _

_ “You do just realize that you brought Mr. Braginsky up in a conversation about marriage?” _

_ Alfred’s face went red. “W-What? I-I didn't… I didn't mean-- Ah, forget it! You know I didn't mean it that way!”  _

_ “I'll say I do,” Arthur said with a smirk. “But I don't believe that you believe that.”  _

_ “What are you-- I don’t like Ivan!”  _

_ “I didn’t say that you did, but I must admit, you talk about him a lot.”  _

_ Alfred glared at the Brit, blush still very much present on his cheeks. “That doesn’t mean anything.”  _

_ “Alright. If that’s what you think,” Arthur mumbled as he rose to his feet. He began making his way toward the door. _

_ “Wha-Where’re you going?”  _

_ “I have a life too, Alfred. I’m not going to spend it with some idiot who won’t even admit his own feelings.”  _

_ “I don’t--” Alfred stopped, taking a moment to sort through his mind. He stared at his hands as he clenched and opened his fists.  _

_ “I… I don’t to hear it.” Arthur shook his head. “When are you going to learn, Alfred? Not everything is what you expect it to be, and not everything makes sense. I don’t want to see you anymore if you’re going to be like this.”  _

_ Alfred gazed at Arthur hopelessly, before finally scowling, and muttering, “Fine, then. I don’t care anyway.”  _

_ Arthur didn’t even reply.  _

Ivan didn’t know much about Alfred and Arthur’s friendship, but he knew that they hadn’t been on the best of terms for a year or so. It was sad, really. He’d heard rumors that Arthur used to be a father figure to Alfred, despite only being five or so years apart, and whether or not that was true didn’t matter. If they had a relationship rumored to be that good, they were, at the very least, close.  

Ivan smiled softly as he brushed a strand of hair from Alfred’s face. 

No, he didn’t hate him. He couldn’t. He knew the truth.

A few hours later, Alfred woke up with a note on his nightstand.

_ “Went to go get food. Be back soon! :)”  _

The American scowled. “Idiot…” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this is so so short... Gah... More coming!


	5. Damage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred tries to sleep.

The next day, not long after noon, Ivan returned from his food run with hamburgers and a key card. He said it was to get into the building the terrorists were in. He didn’t even bother to explain how he got it.

As they ate the delicacy made from fried beef and bread, Ivan asked a question he’d been wanting to ask for awhile. 

“Why does your agency call us ‘The Russian Mob?’”

Alfred looked up from his burger. “It’s not actually called that?” 

Ivan sighed. “No, Alfred, it’s not.”

“Oh. Well, then I don’t know. Maybe because it’s filled with Russians?” He asks, completely serious. Ivan had to repress another sigh.

“No, we’re not, actually, we’re international. Believe it or not, most of our members are either English, Spanish, or some type of Asian.” 

“Weird. Then I don’t know. I don’t really keep up to date with your mob.” 

Ivan couldn’t hold it back anymore. “We aren’t even a  _ mob _ !” 

“ _ What _ ?!” Alfred suddenly shouted. “For real?! You mean, ya’ll are just--”

“Agents and hitmen, Alfred, agents and hitmen.” 

“Wow. I had no idea. I’ve been calling you a mobster for years now, but you’ve never once said anything.” 

“Well, that’s because I kind of am one, sort of, but I’m not apart of a mob.” 

Alfred stared at him with a confused expression. “What do you mean?” 

“I… I have some connections with the Russian mafia.” 

The blond hitman nearly spit out his Pepsi. “For fuckin’ real?!” Ivan nodded somberly, hesitant to meet the American’s eyes, but when he did, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of warmth settle in his chest.

Alfred’s blue eyes were shining with wonder as he stared into Ivan’s violets. The Russian's breath hitched. Alfred’s never looked at him quite like that before. 

“Y-Yes,” Ivan breathed. 

“That’s so  _ cool _ ! Did you, like, threaten people who hurted your sisters ever? Did you yell at people with, like, a deep Russian accent? Does this mean you’re invincible? Did you ever talk to Putin? Because, if you did, that’s fucking awesome.” 

Ivan perked up. He could feel his cheeks warm as he nodded. “Y-yeah, I’ve done a lot of those things, and I’ve briefly met President Putin, but only as a helper.”

“Wow…” Alfred paused for a moment. “Do you really support Communism?” 

“I don’t pay attention to politics,” Ivan admitted. The blond nodded. 

“Can’t say I disagree with ya there. But that’s really cool, you know. Being apart of the ‘mafia… It’s cool, really.” 

“I… Never said I was  _ apart  _ of it.” 

“Still, it’s cool.” Ivan smiled down at his burger. Who knew that something as silly as his past would interest Alfred. Perhaps he would tell him more, just for the sake of seeing his eyes light up like that again. 

He may of wanted to hear more, but nothing prepared him for Alfred’s next statement. 

“I think I’ve gained some respect for you, Red. Just a little.” Ivan’s insides warmed. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t help but feel giddy at the sound of ‘respect’ leaving Alfred’s mouth. Even if he only meant it for that moment. “And when I mean little, I mean 0.001%.” 

The Russian nodded. “Of course.” That was all he needed.

 

The remainder of the day, Alfred spent napping. Or, at least, trying to. Around his 2nd hour, he watched Ivan from a the slit of his eye write a note to place at the same spot as the one he found that morning. 

He read it a few minutes after Ivan had left. 

“ _ Meeting with friend! I’ll be back before the mission! :)  _

_ Sleep well. _

_ \-- Nikolai Stratov” _

Alfred couldn’t help but smile. 

Minutes after that, he laid back on the mattress, only to lay for another hour after that, and an hour after that. He couldn’t sleep, despite being oh so tired. 

He could’ve gave up, but he didn’t want to. He desperately needed sleep, despite the few hours he had gotten the previous night. Thinking of that, he also couldn’t help but wonder why he had broken his pattern. 

Was it because he wasn’t alone? Was his lack of sleep simply due to loneliness? He hoped so, because if the reason wasn’t that, the only other thing he could think of was that Ivan himself was the reason. But… If that were the case, why?

As he thought about his, me made a move to turn, but he suddenly found himself unable to do so. His eyelids flew open.  _ Shit shit shit  _ **_shit_ ** _!  _

_ Not again _ , he thought, his heart racing.  _ Please, not again.  _ The pace of his breaths hasten, and he feels his head begin to throb.  _ Please…  _ His chest tightened as his eyes found the hotel phone.  _ Arthur… Arthur…  _

 

Ivan shut the door behind him as he walked into the hotel room. He was longer than he originally anticipated, so he expected Alfred to yell at him once he arrived, but to his surprise, he didn’t hear a sound.  _ He must still be sleeping,  _ he reasoned. 

The Russian sat his bag beside the door when he heard a whimper. “Alfred?” He called out, concerned. 

He started towards the wall that shielded the single hotel bed from his sight. He peeked around the corner, and took note that the bed was empty, with the covers stripped from the mattress.  

“Alfred?” He stepped towards the bed, and suddenly he heard heavy, broken breathing. “Are you--” He freezed. Just in front of him, lay Alfred, curled up in a mess of covers, shaking with sobs.

“A-Alfred!” Ivan fell to his knees, immediately tending to the American. “W-What happened? Are you o--” 

“Arthur,” Alfred suddenly mumbled. Ivan gazed at him hopelessly. 

“W-Wha?” 

“Call Arthur. I need Arthur. I need to talk to Arthur.” 

Ivan didn’t waste a moment. Leaping to his feet and dashing back toward the door, he grabbed Alfred’s phone and began searching through his contacts. He searched Arthur by name, but after finding nothing, he decided to search through the contacts manually. 

He scrolled past what seemed like 100 names before finding a contact titled “Eyebrows McBitch.” It was the only option he had. 

“What is it, Jones?” A voice came after only a moment. 

“M-Mr. Kirkland?” Ivan stuttered. 

“Ivan?” Arthur asked, concerned by the sound of his voice. “What is it?”

“Something’s wrong with Alfred… I-I-I don’t know what it is, but--” 

“Bring him his phone.” Ivan nodded, despite knowing Arthur couldn’t see it. 

He returned to Alfred, who now was shaking with gasping breaths. 

“I-It’s Arthur,” Ivan whispered as he passed the phone to Alfred.

“Arthur?” He asked, still sobbing. “Arthur, it happened, I-I can’t… I need you… Please. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” 

Ivan rose to his feet then, and suddenly the stress was too much. He ran onto the balcony.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANOTHER SHORT CHAPTER AH SORRY IT'S THE BEST I CAN DO IN SO LITTLE TIME!!!
> 
> (small note: Alfred was having a panic attack triggered my sleep paralysis and painful memories. Sorry if that confused you haha)


	6. Understanding Alfred Jones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred is conflicted. (And what's going on in Washington?)

Alfred let out a sigh after ending the call. The conversation had lasted a while, but he had to admit, despite hating getting helped, he felt a lot better. His hands had even stopped shaking.

He looked up at the open glass door and sat his phone down. As he rose to his feet, he figured, he sort of owed it to Ivan to give an explanation. 

The American started towards the opening, and after passing the threshold, he made sure to shut the door behind him. He looked down at Ivan, who was laying on an outdoor couch with his eyes closed. 

Alfred cleared his throat. 

The Russian sat up with a start, eyes widening when he saw Alfred beside him. 

“A-Alfred,” He said, surprised. “You-You’re…” 

“I finished the call…” Alfred averted his eyes. He couldn’t look at Ivan. He didn’t want pity.

“...You’re okay now?” Alfred nodded, and Ivan let out a relieved sigh. “That’s good…” He paused for a moment before adding, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Are you alright with that?” 

Ivan bobbed his head. “Y-Yes… Say whatever you need to.” He moved his legs to the side, allowing Alfred to sit beside him. 

After a few moments of silence, the blond started to speak.

“When I was a kid… I don’t… Really know if you heard, but I was sort of raised by Arthur. He was all I had.” Alfred chuckled. “I used to even call him family… I… I loved him.” Ivan smiled softly. He remembered when he and his sisters said the same thing, but they didn’t anymore. 

Natalya didn’t for reputation’s sake, and Katyusha didn’t simply because Ivan scared her. There was a reason behind this, of course, but Ivan didn’t like to remember the why he left the mafia in the first place. 

“You’re parents… They’re dead too, right?” Ivan nodded. 

“Yes…” 

“Well, I don’t really know about my dad, but my mom… She… Died from cancer.” 

The Russian gazed at Alfred with eyes filled with sadness. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright. I’m fine. What happened to yours?” 

“No idea,” The hitman replied with a sigh. “All I know is that they were went on a march with a bunch of Soviets and never came back. I was left with my sisters after that.” 

“Your family…” Ivan nodded. 

The two sat in silence then, staring at the night sky as their foggy breaths intermingled in the air. Alfred turned to Ivan to find him staring right back. 

“Do you hate me?” Ivan asked after a few moments. Alfred stayed quiet for a moment before shaking his head.

“No,” He admitted. “No, not really. You just frustrate me.” 

Ivan rose an eyebrow. “I frustrate you?” Alfred nodded. “How?”

“Well, I mean…” The American let out a light laugh. “You seem to see right through me, and, well, you remind me of my twin brother.”

“I do? Really?” 

“Heh… Yeah. He saw right through me too, I guess that’s part of the reason why I left him after meeting him for the first time.” 

Ivan smiled sadly as he turned to face the skyline. “I see. Well, I’m sorry I frustrate you. I really do not try to.” 

“I get that. Honestly, I don’t really know why I let you affect me so much.” 

It was silent again until Ivan asked another question. “Why did you and Arthur stop talking?” 

Alfred let out a shaky sigh. “I didn’t tell him something he wanted to hear.” 

“What did he want to hear?” The Russian asked.

“He wanted me to admit something that I… I didn’t know was true or not.” 

“Well, was it?” 

Alfred went silent. 

“Alfred?”

“I don’t know,” The blond replied. “I really don’t know.”

 

A few hours later, Alfred and Ivan returned to the hotel room, the cold eventually getting too much to handle. Ivan was taking a shower when Alfred suddenly got a call from Gilbert. 

“Idiot!” He shouted from the speaker. Alfred just blinked.

“Nice to hear from you too, Gil.” 

“Do you know what time it is?!” And suddenly, Alfred realized. 

“...Shit.” 

“It’s nearly  _ 2 hours  _ after I told you to enter the facility! Do you know how angry the man upstairs is?!”

“I’m sure God hates me,” Alfred replied sarcastically.

“Alfred!” Gilbert scolded. “You failed a mission for the most crucial of reasons! You’re in big trouble! You’re lucky we had a backup plan.” 

“Backup plan?”

“We planted a bomb in their car. They’re probably blasted into smithereens right now.” 

“...Couldn’t you have just done that in the first place?” Alfred asked. He heard Gilbert sigh.

“That’s what I said, but boss wouldn’t have it.” 

The American nearly stopped breathing. “You don’t mean… Cheeto headed this?” 

He heard another sigh. “No. I guess I should say former boss… But don’t ask why he headed this. I don’t know.” 

“Weird,” Alfred murmured. “Oh well. Thanks for telling me… When are we going to fly out?” 

“Checking now. I’ll send updates. Try to be more careful next time. What exactly distracted you anyway?”

“Thanks, Gil, bye.” Alfred hit ‘end call’ before answering. He sighed heavily.  _ I’m such an idiot.  _

 

_ Back in America, former president Obama stood beside Elizabeta and Gilbert, staring into the large screen heading the room. _

_ “Do you think it worked?” The Hungarian asked, watching Alfred sit his phone down on the monitor.  _

_ “It better of. I had to miss dinner with Michelle for this,” The former president muttered.  _

_ “Thanks for doing this, Barry. I really owe ya.”  _

_ “Damn right, you do.”  _

_ “Let’s just hope. Those two have been a problem for too long… Hopefully they’ll finally warm up,” Eliza sighed.  _

_ Gilbert nodded. He was not about to listen to another drunken rant from Alfred. Those two were going to “warm it up,” if it was the last thing Gilbert did-- which it likely was.  _

_ Sooner or later Alfred would discover that there was no mission, which meant that sooner or later, Alfred would kill Gilbert, but if Ivan just did what he was meant to do, perhaps Alfred would chose the latter.  _

_ Here’s to hope. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My God, this had become a crack fic >_< why did I do this lol   
> Anyways, I hope you liked it (even though it was so so stupid gahh)


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